


All That Jazz

by starshooter



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Frisk Uses Sign Language, Gen, Mentions of Racism, Post-Pacifist Route, Reader Is Not Frisk, confident reader, just for fun, music things, reader is female, smut at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starshooter/pseuds/starshooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bartending in a city like this one isn't the easiest job, but it's totally worth it to be surrounded by the music you love. </p><p>But your everyday routine is shot when a skeleton becomes a regular and shows you a more monstrous side of life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's a Swing Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I needed something fun to write so here's a thing!

“You want ketchup?” You stood behind the bar, stopped dead from your task of trying off a beer mug.

Monsters had been on the surface a few years now, but you lived a long ways a way from Mt. Something-or-other so it had taken a little more time for some of them to trickle into your city. And it wasn’t the most welcoming city even to new humans moving in. Most monsters who did move to the city were amicable and surprising willing to stick their neck out for strangers. That’s a rarity where you live.

But as much as you wanted to keep positive about these newcomers, some of them were just plain strange. Example, the stocky skeleton in a blue parka in front who told you they wanted ketchup when you asked them what their poison was.

“Do they not have that here? Guess this place needs to play some _ketchup_ in fine dining.” He silently shakes at his own joke. You raise an eyebrow at such obvious word play.

You scoff, reaching under the bar to grab one of those plastic red condiment bottles. “Oh yeah, because place just defines fine dining.” You slide it over to him, worried for a second he may not even bother to catch it, but does at the last second. Good. You would really hate to have the clean freaking ketchup off the floor.

The bar you work in, _6 over 8_ , is actually a downtown jazz club. During the day it’s just sort of a place to get something quick to eat at the street front but at night the back area is open to the public for a dark, almost speakeasy type experience. You mostly works nights behind the bar because people tip damn well once they’ve got a little liquor in them. And the daytime shift just isn’t as fun.

The first band finishes setting up, since you can hear the easy rolling of a snare drum. You march off to get the rush of drinks before the first set starts. It’s this time of night when you get to show off, pouring four martinis at once, setting shots on fire, mixing drinks so they look like a starry night sky or the depths of the ocean.

With most of the patrons turning their attention to the young jazz group, you lean over the bar to make small talk with your newest customer. “So how’d you hear about this place?”

He shrugs, taking a full swig of ketchup. You don’t even flinch. You work at a bar, you’ve seen much nastier. You roll your eyes and get back to drying oversized beer mugs. Maybe not all monsters are friendly. But getting snubbed is part of the job.

Luck for you, your favorite jazz trio in town plays tonight and they just started playing. They’re freaking amazing and it only takes a few seconds for you to start bobbing and humming along. No matter how many times you’ve heard this set you’re still so into it. Plus the improv is different every time. It makes working late and weekends completely worth it.

Your new skeletal friend seems much more intent on watching you than watching the band. “You need more ketchup or something?” You think you watch his smile increase in size, which is strange considered you would expect a skeleton to be static, bones and all. That’s not really your business though. “Nope. Just saw something interesting.”

You blow air out through your teeth as you continue to bob to the slick music. “Is this your first time in a bar or something? You know a customer has about zero percent chance with the bartender.”

“I’ve seen plenty of _hot_ bartenders, don’t you worry kid. Besides,” He takes another long drink of ketchup as the music dies down. You’re not particularly sure what that’s supposed to mean, but again, that’s not your business. “About zero isn’t zero.” He smirks, trying to take another drink from the bottle but it hisses in empty sadness.

“Don’t make me cut you off.” You tease, sliding a few martini glasses back to their respective homes. It’s a cute attempt and you have to commend him for confidence. Most guys crack once you call them out.

“But look at me, I’m all bone. You can’t take away all I have left.” He lazily pleads, hands clutched together like if he was in prayer.

“Just this once then.” You laugh. You can see someone trying to wave you down from across the bar. “Duty calls.” You give him a quick wink before getting back to actual work.

Saturdays are the business nights of the week, so despite your small reprieve in the first hour you’re already rushing around serving up sloshed smiles. All in all, you only had to stop serving two customers. Practically a record.

Carrying three beer mugs and a whiskey glass, you realize there’s one lingering skeleton as the staff packs up the remaining instruments and the house lights come on.

“Any reason you’re still here?” You ask half in passing, half serious as you rinse out one of the glass someone apparently thought was a spittoon. It was so close to closing and just a few couples and groups milling around, making your life hard by not leaving.

“Never got your name. Or the check.”

You wrack your brain. “I don’t think we charge for ketchup. And also,” You tack at your plastic name tag pinned to your uniform. “You can read, huh?”

“Got it. See you around.” He hops off the stool and the lights come on, headed out the doors. You shake your head, reaching over to collect the tip he left. You realize there’s a piece of paper wedged between the crumpled bills. In messy scrawl you read look over the 10 digits, with his name signed at the bottom.

You laugh to yourself as you shove the number in your pocket. Most numbers you get go straight in the trash, but for some reason you can’t bring yourself to throw this one away.

Sans, huh? The name suits him.


	2. Saucy Samba

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooo not use to writing cute stuff.

“Back so soon?”

Tuesday are the slowest nights of the week but for good reason. It’s a damn Tuesday. The bar is barely half full, giving a new group a chance to try out their music on fresh ears. This tri isn’t half bad, you muse to yourself. But for the seventh time in two weeks, Sans is sitting in his newly, self-designated ‘spot’, chugging away at his condiment of choice.

“What can I say, this place just gets me _jazzed_ up.” He drums his fingers on the marble bar top. You’ve figured out by this point that means he’s ready for more ketchup. It’s a little odd you’ve already fallen into such a routine in such a short time.

“Oh yeah. I asked my boss, he said if you’re going to drink more than half a bottle of the red stuff you’ve gotta pay for it.” You play the plastic tip, enjoying that Sans is watching you far too intently. Who knew it was just as fun to tease skeleton boys and it is to tease human boys.

“Damn. Time to find a new bar.” Sans spins around on the bar stool, pretending to mope.

“Oh shut up. I’ve got this next one covered but you’ll just have to pay $1.25 for every bottle after that. Which is pretty fair considering some of the prices here.” You push the bottle towards him as he spins back around.

“How forward. Buying me a drink? Not even going to ask me to dinner?” Sans grabs the bottle, squirting some of the viscous red liquid into his mouth. You can hear someone gag from one of the booths. Jerks.

You push yourself up from your elbows, shaking your head. “Obviously.” You let a smile break through.  “But seriously, I’m not working Thursday or Friday night.” You glance over to the only other bartender on staff with you tonight. Allison’s already made it apparent she is not a fan of Sans.

In an attempt not to actually touch Sans’ skeletal hand two days ago, Allison practically threw a bottle of ketchup but Sans wasn’t able to grab it in time. This caused it to splatter everywhere and ruin Allison’s shoes.

To be fair, who wears $200 shoes to work? At a bar?

“What? How come?” San’s words say ‘no go’, but his tone says ‘let me take a nap’. It’s hard to read, honestly.  

You grab a discarded wine glass. “My roommate is watching her girlfriend’s awful Yorkie this week, but she has to work late those day and ask that I don’t let the little piss-monster destroy the house.” Sans rises his brow bone, questioningly. A hand shoots over your dumb mouth. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t mean any offense, I’m so dumb.”

“No offense taken. But you’re ruining my week anyways. You’re putting _me_ in the _dog-house._ ” You might call what Sans is doing a temper tantrum except it’s so lackadaisical, you can’t help but laugh. You can see Sans’ grin spread across his face, taking his joke as a winner.

“If you’re going to whine so much, why not just come at lunch? I’ll make sure we’ve got enough of your favorite stocked. And maybe you can bring your brother since that’s like half of you walk about.”

It was annoying to admit, but you really did enjoy Sans’ company. Plenty of bar patrons _spoke_ to you, but no one was really interested in _talking_ to you. It was a nice change of pace.

“That’s not the worst idea I’ve ever hear. But you’re sure you can handle Papyrus?” Oh? Was sans trying to make it a challenge?

“Please, I can handle anything.”

Alright, you spoke too soon.

Papyrus was…something else. No doubt, he was the sweetest person you’ve ever met, monster or otherwise but he was also much more boisterous and overzealous than anyone you know. As soon as you introduced yourself and ask if they wanted to be seated, Papyrus blanketed you in the most rib-crushing hug you’ve ever received. If Sans hadn’t called him off, he might have actually crushed you to bits.

He and Sans were polar opposites. Sans was only a smidge shorter than you, but Papyrus towered over you. And you’d never thought yourself to be that short. Despite that, his enthusiasm was truthfully contagious. It was like Papyrus had all the energy that should have been distributed between him and Sans.

“SANS! Why would you bring me to an establishment that does not serve the greatest food the world has to offer? Though this human is very nice and seems to be an excellent example of a human friend. I am quite glad to meet you!” Papyrus makes an attempt to keep his voice down, but you’re under the impression Papyrus functions at one volume. Loud.

Papyrus continues his rant, attracting the concern of other diners. You lean over slightly toward Sans a she lounges on his side of the booth. “What’s with this spaghetti thing, again? Does he eat anything else?” You whisper through closed teeth, trying to keep a smile.

“Yeah. But he won’t trust a place that doesn’t serve it.” Sans sighs wistfully as Papyrus combs through the menu, in case he missed his much needed dish. “I should have checked before we came, my bad. Guess that makes me a _wet noodle_ , huh?” Sans grins up at you. Papyrus shouts that this was no time for jokes. A serious matter was at hand.

And if it’s serious to Papyrus, you’re sure you can do something about it. “What if I told you we have a special dish meant just for…uh…” You glance quickly as Sans, using your eyes to ask for a little help.

“Human royal guards.” Sans snorts.

“That’s right! Human royal guards!” You clap your hands together. Papyrus looks at you with a mixture of wonderment and skeptics.

“Now, it’s not exactly what you’re used to, but I promise it’s just what you’re looking for.” You flash a wide grin that could seriously rival Sans’ before darting away before papyrus can protest.

“Why you mixing marina sauce with macaroni, girly?” The chef grunts, placing a bubbling hamburger on the rack. Another waitress scoops it up with little effort to bring to its destination.

“Gotta make a customer happy. Raul, you know how it is.” You try to pick some seasoning on your own but Raul reaches around and hands you what you should be using. He’s a big guy, but he’s just looks rough. He stares through the grated serving area, where Papyrus tries to keep himself from bounding out his seat while Sans just chills.

“Do skeletons need ta eat even?” He hands you the house spice blend. You blow air out your mouth, vigorously mixing the pasta and sauce together. “I don’t know. And you shouldn’t be complaining, more mouths to feed means more business.” You decide that’s good, pouring the pseuo-spaghetti into a clean, white bowl.

“Still strange.” Raul says, but he still finds it necessary to place a sprig of parsley on top.

You wipe your hands on your black apron when you decide you’ve done a pretty stellar job, if you say so yourself.

You put your hand out, displaying your work. “Raul, be honest with me here. Does not look good enough for any royal guard?”

“The hell does that mean?” He snorts.

You pick up the place and wedge a bottle of ketchup in the crook of your arm so you can open the door to the kitchen. “Great feedback. Let’s do this again.” You walk backing to the dining room, ready to please.

“And here…” You spin the plate as it lands, in a dramatic showing. Leaning how to mess with dinnerware and glasses serves you in so many more places than just behind the bar. “is you dish.”

You give Sans a nervous glance as Papyrus studies the plate. You know you’re losing points for not having angel hair or linguine pasta though Papyrus tries it regardless. What are you even anxious about? If it didn’t work, it didn’t work. It was a valiant effort.

It’s only a minute or so, but it feels like Papyrus hasn’t said anything in ages. He stares up at you, expressionless. “This…IS SPECTACULAR! While it is no match for mine, it is excellent none the less!” You can feel your shoulders relax. Disappointing people is something you vastly prefer not to do, and you really didn’t want to disappoint someone who’s just so positive.

“Why don’t you invite her over to try some of your cooking, Paps?” Sans puts his hands behind his head and leans back into the black vinyl.   

You try to hold in a gasp. Sneaky little asshole! You’d already turned him down twice ‘to have dinner with him’. A customer is still a customer. Talk about a loophole, because it’s not like you were going to say no to…

“What a wonderful idea! Please let my brother know when you are available and I will create a meal beyond your wildest expectations!” Papyrus juts up from the table, forcing you and Sans to grab it to keep it from flipping over. You sneer at Sans, who just shrugs.

Papyrus is out the door as soon as the bill is paid. “Well that was…fun.” You grimace at the word. In a weird way it was, but you still have the rest of the day to work and you’re already worn out beyond belief.

Sans is half out the door when he turns back in. “Thanks for doing that, I really owe you. A lot of people here…don’t get Papyrus. Or any of us.”

You shrug, but you can tell a grin is peeking its way through. “It really wasn’t a big deal. I just don’t want to see my friends or their family feeling down. Plus, Papyrus may be a little different but that doesn’t mean he’s not great. And anyone who’s got a problem with monsters…well that’s just silly isn’t it?”

Most of the time, Sans tries to keep a cool air about him. Right now, it’s totally washed away with your statement. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“But don’t get any ideas, got it? I’m coming over because Papyrus asked me to. Not you.” You shove your arms into each other, adding a dash of sass to that.

“We’ll see about that. Still my house too. You’ll be singing a new tune one you see me in my natural zone, I’m sure.” Sans opens the door yet again, eliciting the little jingle bell tied to the top of the glass front door. “Catch ya later.”

“Bye Sans.” You give a small wave while rolling your eyes. Who does he think you are? He’s is pretty cute for someone without skin, but does he think a little confidence is all it takes to make you switch your footing?

He’ll have to do better than that to get you to break your own rules.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing cute stuff is fun, who would have known?


	3. Classical Crescendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like you guys. You guys are nice.

“Wow.”

You’re standing in the lobby of a condo building uptown, somewhat overwhelmed. You checked the address at least three times and texted Papyrus just to make sure. This is definitely the place. It’s actually not particularly far from where you live downtown but it’s a world apart.

You feel a little displaced between the clean marble pillars that flank each end of the room as your boots click against travertine tile that’s probably worth more than your entire apartment.

Luckily, you’re not the only one looking so out of place. Sans is waiting by a pair of gold colored elevators, dressed with even less effort than normal. With fuzzy house slippers to top it off. You’re not surprised.

Sans chuckles when he sees your expression making a vague gesture to the atrium-like lobby. “Surprised?”

The elevator dings on arrival. “Yeah, a little. I mean, you and Papyrus are cool and all but this is where old rich women live after their third husband ‘mysteriously’ passes.” Oh god, that’s a lot of mirrors in one location. It’s like infinite copies of yourself.

“I would like to think of myself and my brother as the epitome of class.” Sans tugs at his coat like it’s a suit jacket, smirking the entire time. You rolls your eyes dramatically. “Of course, how could I not notice sooner? Just what every girls wants. A snazzy skeleton living in a fancy condo.”

“See, you’re getting it.” The elevators doors slide open to reveal an elegantly decorated hallway. At this point you’re dying to know how this whole set up worked.

Sans’ shoulders shake as he chuckles, taking long enough strides to stay just a touch ahead of you since you tend to walk fast and had no idea where you were gong. You keep glancing at him, mentally willing him to tell you the secret of how he and Papyrus ended up living at the damn Ritz.

“Geez kid, if you could shoot lasers from those eyes I’d be a dead man. I would be if I wasn’t already.” He gives you a wink and he pushes open one of the pristine white doors.

Now this is more of what you were expecting. Even though the shell of the condo was still crazy fancy, the living room was packed with two huge suede couches with a wall mounted TV that was disproportionate to the wall size. It seems like there was an attempt to add a decorative touch with a few modern floor lamps and a large dining table at the far edge of the open space flanked by full sized picture windows. It’s a fantastic few of the city.

“Human! Welcome to our humble abode!” Papyrus has a huge pot hitched the crook of his, frantically stirring.

You can’t help but snort before your respond. You recompose, because its only polite. “It’s a great place, thanks for inviting me.”

“Yes! This place is great! It was a gift!” Papyrus takes a second to check his work, and continues on stirring. “Please, make yourself at home! I shall be finished with this magnificent meal post haste!” He bounds back into the kitchen with enough enthusiasm to light a 1000 suns.

“A gift, huh?” You say, dropping yourself onto the couch closest to the door. You swing one leg over the other making yourself comfortable just as Papyrus wished.

Sans shrugs, the pricks of light in his eyes making a round in his skull. “Guess you caught me, I’m not the suave billionaire I seem to be. I’ll just have to settle for being _bone-chilling_ good looking.” He sit on the other side of the couch, flipping on the TV. You have to say, you’re digging the wit happening here as you crack an amused smile.

Bright lights in alternating pink and white lights flash on the wide screen with a figure dancing in a ring of smoke from a fog machine. And so much sparkle. “Really? MTT? Didn’t peg you as a robot idol kinda guy.” Peppy pop music with heavy bass blares from the speakers.

Sans shook his head, grin still firmly etched into his bones. “Not really my thing.”

As if on cue, Papyrus rushes back into the living room, a stare of true intent focused on the television. You suppose this does make a lot more sense. “Sans!” He bellows, whipping his head in your direction and then back to the screen. “We have not yet invited Mettaton over to show him our appreciation for obtaining this new home for us! I do not know what I would have done, if I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS,” Papyrus poses in a dramatic lunge, one fist the air and the other on his hip. “Could not see our friends anymore!”

“Sure. Just say when.” Sans says unenthusiastically, but the tone is clearly not important to his brother. Papyrus excitedly pops back off to the kitchen to finish his cooking endeavor.

You wait for a second as the song changes to something just as bouncy but with an electric sound behind it. “No explanation?” You try to suppress the amusement in your voice, but you’ve never seen Sans look so disinteresting in anything.

Sans stands up, offering you a hand. You purse your mouth before deciding to oblige him. “So?” You press, hand still locked in his. It’s a strange sensation, to grab a hand without skin. There was still a sense of smoothness between his fingers and where the palm of his hand would be. It’s not that bad. Not at all.

“Nope.” Sans retracts his hand. “It would be a Metta- _ton_ of work to explain. Also not my thing. And almost forgot to do something.” He turns the TV off and starts to walk to what you have to assume is the bedroom. “Hang with Paps for a while. You won’t be disappointed.”

Well, that was cryptic as hell. Whatever, no skin off your bones.

Ha.

“Hey Papyrus, need any help?” The kitchen is directly off the dining room and damn if it isn’t a chef’s dream. Raul would kill for this in the restaurant, you think. It’s incredibly sleek and modern, but it seems like the brothers have managed to make it somewhat homey. You especially like the pirate skeleton holding bananas.

“Human!” Papyrus beams as a large sauce bubble erupts from the pot. It splatters onto the bottom of the hood of the oven range. “Thank you very much for your offer, but I will handle this! You shall be astounded and amazed by my cooking prowess!” He grabs a shaker off a shelf that you would never be able to reach and practically dumps it into the pot. When he places it down, you steal a glance at it.

Sugar glitter?

That’s got to be a first.

“But if you would like to stay and chat, the great Papyrus can indeed handle such a large feat!” You’ll stay. You kind of want to see what else goes into this miraculous dish so you can discern if you should actually eat it or not.

“Sure. I’m always up for good conversation. When did you and Sans move here?”

“Quite recently, actually! Two months ago, I believe! Sans was able to move his job since he completes his work at our wonderful home, and I plan the activities at the pool where Undyne works! I create the most excellent water puzzles for children!” Papyrus beams with pride. You think maybe Sans had mentioned that name before but it was just in passing.

“Sans says you are a master of human drink!”

That makes you laugh. No reason to dash Papyrus’ hopes about you. “I guess I am. I can even make drinks on fire.” You half-brag.

“Wowie! That is amazing! Is it magic?” Papyrus’ eye turn to stars. That’s just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen a skeleton do. “Not quite. Just a little ingenuity.”

You’re about to continue, when you hear a deep sound coming from somewhere in the house. Your attention is immediately drawn to it as a soft melody starts to waft from the depth of the condo. It’s some type of horn.

“Oh! Sans has not played is trombone since we moved! This is much more tolerable than his incidental quirks just to annoy me!” Papyrus takes one hard stomp on the ground. But that’s not particular interesting right now. The music is low and drawn out, but you can’t hear it well enough from the kitchen.

“Is it okay if I wander around?” You ask carefully. You don’t want to impose but now you have to find Sans. Papyrus quickly grands your request and you make your way towards the area Sans had taken off to earlier.

There’s a narrow, dark hallway lines with doors off the living room. You assume they lead to bedroom and bathroom, but all of the doors are closed. You stand still for a second, listening for the source of the sound. It takes you almost no time to find which door is producing the thick, slow sound. It’s played so well, you’re almost skeptical to believe Sans is actually the one playing.

Three quick knocks. You feel a little embarrassed about actively seeking Sans out this way, but you’ve got a damn good poker face so hell if you’d let him know that. The music stops for a hot minute when Sans calls out for you to come in.

You know, for what you’ve learned of Sans in the last few weeks your surprised that his room isn’t a tornado of a mess. It’s still not the picture of immaculate the way the rest of the house is, but at least it’s not dirty. Just some clothes here and there. Sans is sitting on the bed with a bronze trombone, still playing. But you can see that’s he’s looking smug as hell behind the mouth piece. He pulls the horn away and his smile turns full shit-eating grin.

“Like what you hear?”

You roll your eyes. You’re actually a little hurt Sans never let you in on this little tidbit, knowing how much you thrive on this kind of music. “Yeah, actually. You didn’t tell me you could play.” You place a hand over your chest, feigning sorrow. But a smirk breaks through anyways.

“Rather you’d hear it. Didn’t think you’d believe me since I’m lacking a vital organ you humans need to play this thing.” Sans taps around his teeth where lips would be. You suppose he’s right. You did have to see it to believe it. “Besides, the _sound_ of victory is much sweeter this way.” He gently tosses the instrument on the bed. It lands in the heap of blankets, not a thing to worry about.

You stick your nose in the air and fake a nasally laugh. “So you think you’ve won with just this? Please.” You swirl around to leave, but before leaving you turn over your shoulder.

“But that was pretty hot. Guess you jumped up a rung or two.” You take off down the hall, not in a run but enough to know you’ll be safely in the kitchen before Sans can try to pry any further. He expect he won’t do anything in front of Papyrus.

But damn, he got you with that.

You are a sucker for a guy who can play such great music, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> METTATON WOULD BUY ALL OF HIS FAVES FANCY CONDOS, I WILL BELIEVE THIS

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's named after the song. That's the point. 
> 
> I needed some kind of break from It's Still You so this is it!
> 
> Let's be cool kids;  
> http://starshooterx.tumblr.com/
> 
> Just kidding, I'm not cool in the slightest.


End file.
